


Let's watch this city burn

by KenjiroS



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fire, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 00:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenjiroS/pseuds/KenjiroS
Summary: If one knew they were bound to live the life of the tragic hero in a fantasy book, would they make the same choices ?
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Shirabu Kenjirou
Kudos: 7





	Let's watch this city burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when after a month of solid writer's block someone tells you to stare at a piece of black paper instead of a Word document

Let’s watch this city burn

From the skylines on the top of the world

‘Till there’s nothing left of her

Let’s watch this city burn the world

The city was burning.

He stood on the roof of the hospital, looking down at the brilliant reds and golds of the flames. In the sizzling night, the sky was pale with smoke and the ground was turning obsidian.

Black Hell on Earth, White Heavens above.

And him in the middle.

Low, low, low below him the last survivors were trying to escape the sparks. To save themselves from the fires. To escape Fate.

He turned away.

Looking down at the book in his hand, simple glossy moss-green cover with a golden key in bold relief, he flipped through the pages. The heat hadn’t damaged the plastic to the slightest. It was just as brand new as the day he’d bought it.

The first third was blank. White page after white page, only the page numbers were left along with the curving borders. He stopped at the bookmark. The words were disappearing, simply erasing themselves from the page, as the seconds ticked. He waited, heat climbing up the skeleton of the hospital and his back. Sweat dripped on the white paper, sweat and blood from his nose, where he’d been too loud and his lip – where he’d been too slow.

The words were disappearing at a slower pace now, letter by letter instead of whole paragraphs. He knew where it would stop. Knew what came after. Snapping it closed, he stepped to the door of the staircase.

Slamming the heavy door open, he let the heavy smoke in his lungs and eyes. It curled and dripped around him, bitter and cloying, making him numb and blind and deaf to anything but his choking breaths. Had he been an ordinary human, he would be dead by now. Even before opening the doors and inhaling the smoke, the heat would have flayed his skin off. Or the hospital would have crumbled like every other building on the golden horizon.

He couldn’t die. It wasn’t his time.

Squeezing the hard cover of the book, he slowly made his way down the stairs.

He would live to a hundred and ten, surrounded by children and grandchildren and their grandchildren. That was his Fate.

Down the shaking steps he went.

His fate was to be the hero.

The Hero.

The Chosen One.

Not by Fate but by his actions.

He jumped down to the first landing.

He was supposed to be the one ordinary man who would fight for what was right and…

A window crashed to his right, frame and glass falling behind him with the ring of an earthquake.

He was supposed to reach close to the rock bottom while everything he knew and loved burned to ash finer than a spiderweb.

He was supposed to be the sole survivor, a real miracle and an example of his shining luck.

He slowed down. There was no need to rush. He couldn’t die.

He would get a few pretty cuts here and there, bleed from his lip some more, have his shirt ripped and his stomach – slashed.

But he couldn’t die.

He was the Hero.

No.

He was the Protagonist. The MC. The one person that couldn’t be killed. This time. He glanced down at the thick “1” on the side of the book. Who knew what happened further ? And, more importantly, who cared ?

He had reached the lobby, not even sparing a minute to contemplate the mass of cement and steel that had been collapsing with every step he had taken. The building was folding onto itself, the blend of magic and chemicals in the air forcing even the strongest materials to bend to the will of the flames.

He definitely didn’t.

Because there would be no second book. He would cut the plot short. Now, what was coming next…

After the Protagonist’s world had burnt into space dust, the demons would come to scavenge anything left. Anything. The world had killed itself and it was fair game to everyone willing to come and pick it apart. And the Protagonist would be enslaved as an exotic pet and given to the Demon King as a toy.

Those would be the Protagonist’s darkest years, he thought while making his way to the city square. He couldn’t see a thing, of course, the flames were higher than houses and the stench of melting metal and burning fabric was making his eyes water. But he didn’t need to see anyway. The next main plot point was him ending on the Square after failing to rescue his team.

Thinking that such an empty space with only cement and stone would be safe, the Protagonist would run to there and would find it clean of fire. Only, there would be something else there. Something worse.

Because large flat surfaces were great for sigils and circles. And armies. The demons would come and find the Protagonist struggling to breathe, choking on blood and tears, weeping for his friends and family, half-mad with grief and helplessness. He would be easy prey, wouldn’t even realise he had been taken hostage until much later.

He stood straight and waited, the book still in his hand.

They came silently. The novel had described them as silent half-humans, fur burning red and ash black in their hair. With fangs and claws and torn clothing. Barely standing on two legs, limping like beasts. Drool dripping down their torn bloody lips and stench rising from burnt flesh as they dug into the remains like vultures, uncaring that the flames were hurting them.

Creatures so stupid and underdeveloped, they couldn’t tell when they were being hurt and only cared for the blind satiation of their low desires.

A mass of nameless, faceless, grotesque monster coming to rip the world apart.

He stood straight, the book still in his hand.

They came silently.

He counted nine of them. Not an army, barely a squad. Only nine.

In black on black, heavy capes lines with fur the same burning sunrise of colours as the flames, they stepped without making a sound, looking around.

The two leaders, walking shoulder to shoulder, were identical up to the hair which, he could see in the shifting light of the fires, was a tone off. But they checked their surroundings with the air of barely suppressed disgust and he raised his chin, waiting for them to notice.

The flames popped and cracked around them, shrouding them in shifting darkness, barely allowing the glint of metal or skin.

They had machine guns under the capes. Old fashioned hooded cloaks and machine guns. Knives, as far as he could see, and sigils on their skin. There was no wind so he couldn’t see their eyes under their hair but it didn’t really matter.

The next plot point involved getting him to the Demon King.

And since he didn’t have a choice…

\- Gentlemen. – They stopped as one.

The twin with the lighter hair stalked towards him, the others frozen in place, not even breathing. Under the heavy smoke, the demon grasped his chin and peered in his eyes. He stared back.

Just because there was a demon in front of him, he wouldn’t lay down and show his belly.

He had known the world would burn and did everything he could to save it. But it had been fate. The world had to fall for him to move to the next point.

No matter what he’d done, the result had been the same. So he would let that one go and try an even more direct approach. Push his Fate out of his own hands and into the hands of sentient beings. And see what would happen.

\- What’re you, you vermin ? – He narrowed his eyes, not blinking.

The demon’s eyes were light and his fangs showed when he spoke. This close, he could see the details stitched on the cloak and the metal adorning it. And the jewellery glinting on the demon’s skin.

The collar.

Silver collar, glinting in the night. Intricate and snug around his neck, it made the creature holding him by his face look otherworldly and unleashed. Like the chain had been broken.

He still didn’t blink.

\- I want to see your king. – The demon raised an eyebrow, the movement so distinctly human that whatever illusion had been weaved a moment ago was shattered.

\- And ? What’d’ya think ? That he’d just come and chat ?

\- If I was that stupid, I would be on that pile of burnt bodies over there. – He nodded towards what had once been a bus full of people.

The creature’s mouth twisted, fangs still showing over his lower lip. He was looking for a plot or trickery. A plot, huh ? What a joke.

\- You wanna be that suicidal ? – He clicked his tongue. – Be our guest.

With the fall of black around his vision, he felt the book catch fire as it slipped through his fingers. The story was finished.

_He woke up on a plush bed under heavy covers. The room was dark and the air tasted faintly of…plum blossoms._

_Looking around, he couldn’t see a thing and was just about to get up and explore when a soft white light bathed the room in contrast._

_At a desk in the far corner sat a man with a small lantern beside his hand. Hair both as ashen grey as the air last time he’d had his eyes open, and black as the earth after the flames, he was wearing only a black button-down and slacks. He let his eyes drop, the man not reacting to the studying. Barefoot. The man was barefoot._

_But that wasn’t what caught his gaze. It had been the ears first, soft-looking and just as black and grey as his hair. And then…_

_The tails were long, curling around the solid chair and on the ground. All in the same colours, all matching the man’s hair, ears and pale eyes, all making him look like a god…Nine tails which were supposed to signify divinity._

_Only, not in this one fantasy novel. The one he knew had been destroyed by the fire. This was the Demon King himself, studying him as he was being observed in turn, a placid expression on his fine features. He swallowed. The hand by the lantern on the desk was clawed._

_\- You did ask for me specifically. – He cocked his head to the side, hair falling around his ears. – Why ?_

**Author's Note:**

> So. Opinions, criticisms, random ramblings ?
> 
> Also, the song is Hollywood Undead - City.


End file.
